We Don't Need No Education
by TolkienScholar
Summary: Oneshot Collection. Pre-Series. There's a reason Dean doesn't think he's got the smarts to do the whole college thing like Sammy. He had a rough time of it in school, and as teacher after teacher continued to fail him, it only got worse. College was never on the table, and neither was any career school could have prepared him for. He was always meant to be a hunter.
1. B is for B----

**A/N: Ever since I wrote chapter 7 of _What I'm Trying to Say_ , I've been trying to be more aware of what might be behind the misbehavior of my more difficult students, reminding myself, "This could be a young Dean Winchester who's dealing with stuff at home that I can't even imagine." Not surprisingly, I suddenly started seeing Dean everywhere, and the Lessons Learned challenge in the Monthly Challenges for All (MC4A) forum turned out to be exactly the push I needed to start writing down those stories. While each of these oneshots will be inspired by a real life incident with one of my students, please know that most of the stories will bear little real resemblance to what actually happened, and that I almost certainly handled the incident much more effectively than Dean's teacher in the story. ;) Even so, I hope this fic will help me and anyone else who may be reading to show a little more compassion for the children in our lives who may try our patience.**

* * *

 **Warning: As you can see from the chapter title, this story does contain a few bleeped out cuss words. I apologize for the departure from my usual style, but given that cussing is something I deal with fairly often as a teacher, I felt like it was appropriate to address the topic with Dean. The student who inspired this story did not, in fact, call me a b****; he called me a euphemism for something much worse during the playground incident, but during the classroom incident (which looked nothing like what happens in this story), he merely called me a jerk. I know, maybe I should have cast him as Sam instead. :P**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_. No copyright infringement is intended. The title of this collection is taken from "Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)" by Pink Floyd.**

* * *

 **Fill Number:** Shadows of Consequence, Fill #1; Solemn Husbandry of Exultation, Fill #1; Lessons Learned, Fill #2; Not Commonwealth, Fill #1; By Any Other Name, Fill #2  
 **Representation(s):** Dean Winchester; Winchester Family; Elementary School; Bad Language; Winchester™ Stubbornness and Pride  
 **Bonus Challenge(s):** Second Verse (Hot Apple, Non-Traditional, Mouth of Babes, Fire and Fold, Misshapen Pods)  
 **Word Count:** 2061

* * *

 **Setting:** October 1988

Dean is repeating third grade; Sam is in kindergarten.

* * *

 **B is for B******

It's never a good thing to come back from lunch to find a sub sitting in the teacher's chair. Not just because it means something bad probably happened to your teacher, like maybe she threw up at lunch or her son got in a car crash, although that isn't great either. The real problem, though, is that with having to find a sub last minute, the office grabs whoever they can get, which is usually the absolute worst person available.

Where things start to get dicey, though, is when the absolutely worst person available happens to know you. In a less than strictly positive way.

Dean can feel the sub's eyes on him as he walks to his seat. Any hope that Miss Jabon might have forgotten that little incident on the playground quickly dissipates; she's already expecting him to be a problem. He knows he should try to prove her wrong, channel his stubbornness into being good just to spite her. He can do that; he's done it before. But he's got a feeling about this one, like she's the type who would take the credit for his good behavior because supposedly she's got great "classroom management skills." She might even think she somehow won his respect last time just because another teacher made him apologize to her. And he can't let that slide.

Yeah, of course the recess incident a couple weeks ago was his fault. The four-square ball went outside the court on his bounce, so yes, he was out. He knew that, and the other kids knew he knew it, even as he protested that it was Brody who was out, not him. But kindergarten had just come out from lunch to start their recess, and Brody didn't have a little brother who'd come over specifically to watch him play and probably wouldn't have a chance to see him get in again because third grade recess didn't overlap with kindergarten's for long.

Teachers don't see that kind of stuff when they step in to decide what's "fair." All they want to know is who knocked the ball out of the court, and then they call you out; they never consider that the complex politics of recess actually dictate that you _should_ try to stay in if you can get away with it when somebody important is watching you. You could bet your bottom dollar that if Lexi Jonas had been over there, Brody would have done the exact same thing to him.

So really, he was justified in calling Miss Jabon what he'd called her. Anyway, he hadn't actually said the real word; he'd just gotten as close as he possibly could. Obviously, she overreacted.

"Class, class?" she says when they're all at their seats. Dean doesn't join in the corresponding "Yes, yes!" It's unfortunately not the stupidest classroom call-and-response he's ever heard; he drew the line at his second grade teacher's "Tootsie roll, lollipop… We've been talking, now let's stop!" He hasn't participated in them since. The regular third grade teacher never bothers him about it as long as he gets quiet after everybody else says it.

Several people are still whispering, including Ezekiel at the desk next to him, so Miss Jabon says the prompt again. She starts doing that thing teachers do where they sort of meander in your direction without looking at you, trying to make you think it's random. Ezekiel shuts up when she gets to the edge of their row, and the look she sweeps over them is both self-satisfied and warning. Of course she includes Dean in the look, even though he wasn't talking at all. _Might as well have kept talking, Zeke buddy,_ he thinks. _Once you get in this one's black books, you're already there for good._

With everyone quiet, Miss Jabon starts giving instructions for the open book quiz they're supposed to take. When she mentions they'll need their literature books, Dean gets up and starts heading toward the bookshelf, along with a bunch of other students.

The response from Miss Jabon is instantaneous. "Excuse me? Where do you think you're going?"

Dean fixes her with an obstinate look. "To get our literature books," he answers for the group.

"Um, no. _I'll_ let you know when you can get up to get your literature books. Have a seat, please."

There's a tense moment where they face off. Other students move past him on the way back to their seats, some looking frustrated, others embarrassed. None of them look prepared to challenge her. Grudgingly, Dean breaks eye contact and trudges back to his seat. This isn't the hill he's going to die on, though he has a hunch they're just working up to it.

She proceeds to finish giving instructions and then, obviously just to spite the students who rushed to get their books, sends them up to the bookshelf in groups of two or three, which takes so long that Dean starts to wonder if they'll have time to even finish the quiz. How much of a control freak do you have to be to waste this much class time trying to prove your authority?

Bored, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the iron nail he picked up the time Dad had a job at a living history farm in central Indiana. He'd taken Sammy around the village while Dad checked out the haunted old farmhouse, and they'd stayed in the blacksmith shop for upwards of an hour. Dean had wished the old geezer was making weapons or something interesting, but Sammy was content just to watch him hammer out nail after nail from the thin rod of metal. The blacksmith had enjoyed their company so much that he'd given a finished one to each of them when Dad picked them up. The real present for Dean, though, was what Dad had said to him privately as they left: "With all that pure iron around, you could hardly have picked a safer place to wait with Sammy. Well done, Dean." He fiddles around with the nail, grinning at the memory.

A hand appears over his desk, open, expectant, demanding. "Dean, you know better than to be playing with toys in class."

Instantly, he clenches the nail into his fist. "It isn't a toy."

"No, it isn't," Miss Jabon agrees. "In fact, it looks pretty sharp; I'm sure you're not supposed to have something like that at school. Give it to me."

"No."

She blinks hard, as though taken aback by his defiance. "Excuse me?"

"No, I'm not going to give it to you. It's mine."

"Dean, give me that nail right now, or I'm calling the office."

He glares at her. "Go right ahead."

With a sudden motion, she reaches out and seizes his closed fist, one hand grasping his wrist while the other pries the nail from his fingers. Dean tries to fight her off, but she's too strong for him. He feels the nail slip out of his grasp, and then Miss Jabon lets go and begins to walk away, as calm as though nothing had ever happened.

"Give it back to me, you b****!" he screams.

The room instantly goes silent. The motion of turning around seems to take her an eternity, and when her face finally comes into view, it's terrifying. "Excuse me?"

* * *

Dean waits in the office, his feet swinging just above the floor in the too-tall chair. Dad should be on his way up to the school by now. He was pretty quiet when the principal called and told him what Dean had done, but Dean's sure he'll have some choice words for him when he gets here, a few of them probably worse than the one he used.

He hadn't meant to say it. He just got so angry, and the word had come out before he'd had a chance to think about taming it down. Dad says it all the time at home, and he doesn't seem to mind when Dean says it, either. Of course, Dean knows better than to cuss at school, and he certainly knows better than to get in trouble, though that seems to be about the only thing in school he's good at. It's just that… that stupid little nail means something to him, and Miss Jabon had no right to take it away. He wasn't hurting anybody with it, and if anyone was wasting class time, it had been her. It's not fair that he should be the one getting in trouble.

He hears the familiar rumble of the Impala outside, and his stomach drops. Here it comes. He tries to gauge Dad's expression as he comes in, talks to the secretary, gets directed back to Mrs. Lange's office. It's hard to tell. He's wearing that closed-off look, the one that could mean he's totally calm or could mean he's about to boil over. He barely looks at Dean as he passes by, and Dean falls into step beside him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester," Mrs. Lange says with a sugary smile.

Dad nods and clears his throat. "What's this about Dean cussing out a teacher?"

"I didn't—" Dean protests, but Mrs. Lange cuts him off.

"My understanding is that he called the substitute in his class today a very… inappropriate name."

Dad looks at him. "Dean?"

"Yeah," he admits sullenly. "She stole my nail, and I got mad."

Dad's brow furrows. "She stole your what?"

Once again, Mrs. Lange cuts in. "According to Miss Jabon, Dean was playing with a very dangerous looking black nail. She was concerned he might hurt himself or someone else, so she took it away."

"She was _concerned_ that she wasn't in control of me like the rest of the class," Dean grumbles, getting a sharp look from Mrs. Lange.

Dad ignores the comment. "Dean, what were you doing with a nail in class?"

"It was my iron nail from the blacksmith's," he explains. "Remember, the living history farm? When you were busy, so you had me look after Sammy, and you said I took him to a really safe place?"

Dad shakes his head, clearly not remembering. Dean tries to hide his hurt by adopting a closed-off expression he hopes is as effective as his father's. As important as that event was to him, Dad has completely forgotten it.

Apparently, all Dad cares about right now is wrapping this whole thing up. "Well, Mrs. Lange, I apologize for what happened today," he says. "I assure you there will be no more playing with dangerous objects, and no more cussing at teachers. You have my word on that."

Mrs. Lange smiles. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester. I'm sure we'll be seeing much better things from Dean from here on out."

Dean looks back and forth between them, talking about him like he's not there and making promises for him he isn't even sure he can keep. He wants to say something—to protest the unfairness of it, to remind them that it's not only his fault, to demand his nail back—but Dad's motioning that it's time to go, and as usual, there's nothing he can do but fall in line.

As they head out of the office, Dad leans down and mutters in his ear, "I'm getting real tired of dealing with your s***, son. Every time I have to come up here and bail out your pathetic a**, that's less time I get to spend scoping out hunting jobs. You keep wasting my time like this, I'll really give you something to cuss about."

"Yes, sir," Dean answers miserably.

He trails behind as they head out to the parking lot to wait for the bell to release Sammy's class. He reaches reflexively into his pocket, only to remember with a pang that the familiar cool roughness of his nail is gone. For a moment, he thinks about trying to get it back, but then he shakes his head. No, he doesn't want it. It only mattered because it represented a time when Dad was proud of him, and Dad apparently doesn't even remember that anymore. All it could ever be now is a reminder of shame, of the fact that Dad is tired of him wasting his time. And that… that's not worth remembering.

* * *

 **A Note to Reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! Because I am writing this story specifically for the MC4A challenges, I will not be writing or posting the stories in their final order and will have to rearrange the chapters frequently. Due to FFN's system of tagging reviews to the chapter numbers rather than the chapters themselves, the system may tell you that you have already reviewed a chapter when you haven't. If this is the case, and you would still like to leave a review (I hope you will!), please consider either posting the review on the current last chapter (as even if you've reviewed that chapter before, you won't have reviewed that position) or logging out and posting the review as a guest (with your username filled in so I know who to thank!). I'm so sorry for the inconvenience; I wish the system worked differently. Thank you again for your constructive feedback; it means the world to me!**


	2. F is for Focus

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Fill Number:** Paranormal Phantasm, Fill #1; Lessons Learned, Fill #1; Terms of Service, Fill #1; By Any Other Name, Fill #1  
 **Representations:** Dean Winchester; Winchester Family; Elementary School; Zombie Hunting; Taking Care of Little Brother; Single Parenthood; Neglect  
 **Bonus Challenges:** Bad Beans; Second Verse (Toto's Tribute, Misshapen Pods, Non-Traditional, Mouth of Babes)  
 **Word Count:** 775

* * *

 **Setting:**

April 1986

Dean is in first grade; Sam is in daycare.

* * *

 **F is for Focus**

"Focus please, Dean."

Dean briefly thinks about leaning forward to bite the finger Miss Fawcett is using to tap the paper in front of him. Her screaming and freaking out would be a welcome break from the boredom, and a trip to the office might help get his mind off things for a little while.

With a sigh, he looks back down at his paper and lets the opportunity pass. Dad's got enough to worry about today without coming up to the school to bail him out.

 _Zombies_. That's the page of the journal Dad left open last night. He was able to make out the first three letters before the word trailed off into Dad's unreadable scrawl, and he filled in the rest from the drawing Dad had folded in. There was also a photo of a gravestone in the middle of a wide circle of dead grass, with _Youngstown, OH, 4/18/86_ printed underneath. That's where Dad's going tonight, he's sure.

He mentally goes through their pantry, trying to remember what food is left. Dad was supposed to go to the store last night, but instead he came back drunk, so there isn't much. The half box of Cap'n Crunch might stretch a couple days if he makes Sammy take it easy, and he thinks he remembers seeing a can of SpaghettiOs on the bottom shelf. He's not actually supposed to use the stove, but he's done it before. He'll just have to remind Sammy not to tell. The kid can't keep secrets worth a crap, but he can usually remember if he knows Dean will get in trouble if he tells.

The bigger concern is going to be keeping Sammy occupied. He heard on the radio this morning that the drizzle currently coming down outside is supposed to turn into thunderstorms by tonight, and his little brother doesn't handle those too well. They've already watched every episode of _Tom and Jerry_ they have checked out, and if Dad couldn't remember to stop at the grocery store, then he definitely won't think about the library. They'll just have to hope there's something good on TV, though he doesn't like leaving that to chance—

"Dean!" Miss Fawcett's tapping becomes more insistent. "Use your chips: how many sounds do you hear in _tea_?"

"Three?" he guesses, thinking the number of letters in the word. Too late, he realizes there are only two chips and two boxes to put them in on the picture card. _Oh, great._

"No, Dean. Listen. _Tuh, ee. Tea._ Look how my lips move. _Tuh, ee._ "

"Two, two," Dean grumbles, shoving the chips into the boxes. This is so stupid.

"Good!" she says with false enthusiasm. "Now try this one."

She shoves a picture of a saw in front of him. He takes it mindlessly. Two boxes, two chips, two sounds. Any sucker who can count could figure this stuff out. Why exactly is this so much more important than figuring out how he's gonna take care of his little brother while Dad's gone?

And then there's the issue of taking care of Dad when he gets back. To his knowledge, Dad hasn't dealt with zombies before, so he's not sure what kind of injuries he can expect. He doesn't think they have claws, but it's impossible to be sure. Seems like they're probably the type of thing that can actually touch you, though, which of course brings the possibility of broken bones. Or maybe he'll get lucky, and all Dad will need after this one is the whiskey. Those kind of hunts wear Dad down emotionally, but he's usually able to bounce back quicker than the ones where he gets hurt.

"Dean…"

" _Pin. Puh, i, nn._ Three," he snaps to get Miss Fawcett off his back. He'd like to _puh, i, nn_ her with one of those stakes Dad was loading in the Impala this morning.

It isn't her fault, he knows. He can't tell her about everything that's going on at home; as far as she knows, there's nothing more important in his life than her silly little sound boxes. But the fact is, he's got way bigger things to worry about right now, and his being able to count how many sounds are in _zombie_ —five, by the way—isn't going to get Dad any closer to killing the thing, and he doesn't have to know how to spell _SpaghettiOs_ to be able to put food in Sammy's belly. So if Miss Fawcett wants to put down a big, fat X for his progress today, she can go right ahead. Dean's focus is exactly where it needs to be.

* * *

 **A Note to Reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! Because I am writing this story specifically for the MC4A challenges, I will not be writing or posting the stories in their final order and will have to rearrange the chapters frequently. Due to FFN's system of tagging reviews to the chapter numbers rather than the chapters themselves, the system may tell you that you have already reviewed a chapter when you haven't. If this is the case, and you would still like to leave a review (I hope you will!), please consider either posting the review on the current last chapter (as even if you've reviewed that chapter before, you won't have reviewed that position) or logging out and posting the review as a guest (with your username filled in so I know who to thank!). I'm so sorry for the inconvenience; I wish the system worked differently. Thank you again for your constructive feedback; it means the world to me!**


	3. R is for Ripped

**A/N:** **Please forgive Dean for his attitude toward your childhood favorite picture books; I feel the same way, but many kids just can't or don't appreciate the classics you and I may have grown up with. As far as I'm concerned, the most important thing is _that_ a child reads, not _what_ he or she reads, and if comic books or graphic novels are what will hold a reluctant reader's attention, then I'm behind that 100%. Time enough to introduce him or her to the "great books" once the love of reading has been cultivated. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Fill Number:** Shadows of Consequence, Fill #2; Solemn Husbandry of Exultation, Fill #2; Paranormal Phantasm, Fill #2; Lessons Learned, Fill #3; Not Commonwealth, Fill #2; Terms of Service, Fill #2; By Any Other Name, Fill #3  
 **Representations:** Dean Winchester; Winchester Family; Elementary School; Teachers; Werewolves and Ghosts; Winchester™ Stubbornness and Pride  
 **Bonus Challenges:** Esbat, Machismo (crying), Second Verse (Casper's House, Creature Feature, Hot Apple, Misshapen Pods, Non-traditional, Mouth of Babes, Not a Lamp)  
 **Word Count:** 1877

* * *

 **Setting:**

January 1986

Dean is in first grade; Sam is in daycare.

* * *

 **R is for Ripped**

Miss Tappe has comic books.

Until now, Dean had assumed there must be some sort of rule about what books teachers are and aren't allowed to have in their classrooms; after all, this is the fourth school he's been to this year, and every other first grade teacher has had basically the same classroom library— _Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel_ , _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ , _Frog and Toad Are Friends_ , _Be Nice to Spiders_ , and of course, lots and lots of Dr. Seuss. Big machines and talking animals and morals of the story and a whole bunch of stupid poetry that makes about as much sense Dad does after a really bad night at the bar. Never any characters he knows or stories where he actually wants to find out how it ends.

But Miss Tappe is different. Miss Tappe has _Flash Gordon_ and _Batman_ and _Spiderman_ and _X-men_ , and best of all, she has _Scooby Doo_.

Dean had even never heard of _Scooby Doo_ before Miss Tappe. She'd shown it to him one time after she caught him trying to draw a werewolf on the margin of a quiz. Dad had recently hunted a werewolf for the first time, and when he'd come back, he'd told Dean that they looked nothing like how they did in the movies. They just looked like regular people who had fangs and claws, which in Dean's opinion is way scarier, because you could be out walking one night, not thinking about it being the full moon, until the harmless-looking guy coming down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets suddenly opens his mouth and attacks you. Dad had also told him all the ways to kill them, though, and Dean was carefully marking them on his drawing when Miss Tappe caught him. Frantically, he started to erase, but she bent down and laid a hand on top of his to stop him.

"No, don't erase it, Dean. It's good."

He gaped up at her. "What?"

"I like it; it's really creative. Could you tell me why the man you drew has fangs and claws?"

Too startled to think up a good lie, Dean blurted out, "He's a werewolf."

Miss Tappe cocked her head, clearly interested. "Huh. Is that why he has a knife sticking out of his chest? To show how to kill him?"

Dean nodded. "It has to be silver, though. Or you could cut off his head." He pointed to the line he'd drawn across the werewolf's neck.

"Huh," she said again, leaning down to get a closer look. "Have you ever seen one?"

"No," he answered. He had to stop himself from adding, "but my Dad has." They don't talk about hunting; it's the second most important rule, right after "Take care of Sammy." It had never been a problem before now because no one had ever asked.

"You know," said Miss Tappe, "I have some comic books about a group of kids and their dog who hunt things like werewolves. I know you're really into _Batman_ , but you might want to give them a try. If you'll go ahead and finish your quiz for me right now, I'll show them to you when you're done." She smiled at him and moved on to another group of students.

Dean stared after her for a moment. Then he turned his attention to the addition problems he'd been mostly ignoring and began filling out the correct answers as fast as he could. A comic book series about hunters sounded too good to be true; he'd never seen any books about hunting that weren't big and old and boring, Dad's journal being the only exception.

Of course, it turned out that Scooby and Shaggy and the gang weren't actual hunters after all; everything they hunted was just a real, living person in disguise. All the same, Dean loved it. It took the scary, awful stuff of his daily life and turned it into something funny and harmless. Even better, Sammy loved hearing the stories when he got home from school, and now it's gotten so Dean has to read a new comic every day just to keep him satisfied. He reads them for both independent and partner reading, and Miss Tappe has even started letting him take one to lunch and recess as long as he brings them right back and doesn't let them get ripped or dirty. His goal is to finish every _Scooby Doo_ comic in Miss Tappe's collection before they move again and he doesn't have access to them anymore.

Problem is, he's running out of time. Dad tries to keep their moves random—it's safest that way—but Dean knows the signs. An application for a new credit card, with a new fake name filled in. Various items going missing that they bought for this apartment but that won't fit in the Impala, probably either sold or trashed. A new set of license plates coming in the mail. It might be a few days, it might be a few weeks, but they're getting ready to clear out again. Leaving Miss Tappe and her wonderful library behind.

"Dean!"

His name rings out across the classroom, repeated by several of his classmates in case he somehow missed it. He rocks the rocking chair harder and keeps is eyes glued stubbornly to his book as Mrs. Elder, the gray-haired aide who always looks like she's expecting you to give her the wrong answer, comes in from the hallway. Miss Tappe had said something about her coming today to assess their reading progress, but Dean had gotten so absorbed in _The Watery Ghost of Grimsby Hall_ that he'd forgotten all about her. The ghostly pirate can apparently control water and make books fly off of bookshelves; in real life, Dean would definitely have said it was a poltergeist. He's dying to know what natural explanation the gang will find.

"Dean!"

His peripheral vision registers a huge, heavyset figure standing over the rocking chair. He continues to ignore her until a meaty hand snatches the book from his grasp.

"Hey!" he cries in surprised alarm. "Those are Miss Tappe's; you have to be careful with them!"

Mrs. Elder glares at him. "You come to me when I call you, Dean Winchester."

"I was at a good part," he snaps. "They were just about to solve the mystery!"

"That doesn't matter. I need you to come take your assessment right now."

He lunges for the book, catching her by surprise. She stumbles back, and he's only able to get a grip on the cover. There's a terrible ripping sound, and Dean looks down in horror to see half of the cover clutched in his hand, the other half still attached to the book Mrs. Elder is holding, an ugly gash down the middle.

Miss Tappe looks up from the guided reading table. Her face is too much for him to bear as she gasps, "Dean, what—"

Instantly, he bursts into tears. Miss Tappe comes over and takes the ruined comic book gingerly in her hands as Mrs. Elder drags him out into the hallway and sits him down in a chair. She plunks a text in front of him, instructing him to read it aloud when she starts the timer. For several minutes he's sobbing too hard to get the words out, but he finally manages to start. It's another stupid talking animal story with a prissy little moral at the end, and it takes him forever to get through it.

Back in the classroom, he's just able to catch what Mrs. Elder says to his teacher before she leaves: "I don't know what you've been thinking, Jeannette, but that boy's been pulling the wool over your eyes. He can barely _read_ at all; I guarantee you he's been taking those comic books just to look at the pictures. I've always said comic books aren't real reading, and this proves it; you'd better put him back on the kindergarten level, with some real books this time."

Dean puts his head down on his desk, wallowing in misery and shame. He's ruined everything. The first time in his life he's actually enjoyed school, actually liked a teacher, and he's torn one of her precious comic books and then failed a test so badly he's made her think he was lying to her. She'll never let him near her comic books again, and he'll be back to reading the boring stuff, and then he won't have any more _Scooby Doo_ stories to tell Sammy. And it's all his fault.

He feels a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. "Dean?"

Dean looks up into Miss Tappe's kind face and sees to his surprise that she doesn't look mad. "I'm so sorry," he whispers anyway. "I didn't mean to."

"I know you didn't," she says. "It was wrong for you to try to grab the book from Mrs. Elder, but she shouldn't have snatched it away from you, either."

He stares at her, not believing what he's hearing. Grownups never admit when other grownups do something wrong; no matter what happens, the kid always gets blamed.

"I guess you must have been at a really good part when Mrs. Elder called you, huh?" Miss Tappe goes on, still quiet and gentle.

Dean nods. "They were about to solve the mystery."

The teacher smiles sadly. "You know, there's something else you could have done besides ignoring her and talking back to her. You could have asked if she would call someone else and wait for you to finish reading. And if she'd said no, you could always have asked me. I would have said yes."

Once again, Dean can't do anything but stare. He never considered the idea that his teacher might actually take his side; it's never happened to him before.

"Tell you what," Miss Tappe goes on, "I'll take this one home with me tonight and tape it back together. It won't be as good as new, but we'll still be able to read it. Then tomorrow, during partner reading, you can read the rest of the book to me. All right?"

Dean frowns in confusion. "I thought Mrs. Elder told you I couldn't read, that I was just looking at the pictures."

Anger flashes across Miss Tappe's face. "Oh, you heard that, did you?" She shakes her head and mutters, half to herself, "The things teachers will say right in front of the kids…" She fixes him with a firm look. "Dean, I have seen you read. I know you can do it. And I'm not going to let the results of some silly test you took when you were upset tell me what to think when I know what you're really capable of."

Dean's grin stretches from ear to ear, and Miss Tappe's answering smile is nearly as wide.

"So, _Scooby Doo_ tomorrow?" she asks. "I'm counting on hearing how they solve the mystery."

"Wouldn't miss it," Dean answers, nearly bursting with relief and gratitude.

All he can think the next morning, staring out the window as the Impala carries him and Dad and Sammy away to a new home in a new state, is that he's managed to let her down again after all.

* * *

 **A Note to Reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! Because I am writing this story specifically for the MC4A challenges, I will not be writing or posting the stories in their final order and will have to rearrange the chapters frequently. Due to FFN's system of tagging reviews to the chapter numbers rather than the chapters themselves, the system may tell you that you have already reviewed a chapter when you haven't. If this is the case, and you would still like to leave a review (I hope you will!), please consider either posting the review on the current last chapter (as even if you've reviewed that chapter before, you won't have reviewed that position) or logging out and posting the review as a guest (with your username filled in so I know who to thank!). I'm so sorry for the inconvenience; I wish the system worked differently. Thank you again for your constructive feedback; it means the world to me!**


	4. T is for Tooth

**A/N: Admittedly, this story has nothing to do with anything that actually happened with my students. It was inspired by a book title I happened to see when I was browsing some teacher resources. What popped into my head when I saw it made me smile, and I knew I had to write about it. What was the book? _Moose's Loose Tooth_.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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 **Fill Number:** Solemn Husbandry of Exultation, Fill #3; Lessons Learned, Fill #4; By Any Other Name, Fill #4; Terms of Service, Fill #3  
 **Representation(s):** Dean Winchester; Winchester Family; Elementary School; Taking Care of Little Brother; Medical Field (School Nurse)  
 **Bonus Challenge(s):** Machismo (fear, crying); Oblique; Second Verse (Sitting Hummingbird, Non-Traditional, Mouth of Babes, Nightingale, Unwanted Advice, Misshapen Pods)  
 **Word Count:** 1502

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 **Setting:** November 1989

Dean is in fourth grade; Sam is in first grade.

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 **T is for Tooth**

The fourth grade hallway is empty when Dean steps outside the classroom, so he breaks into a run. He doesn't think anyone will bother coming out to try and stop him, but if they do, he has an excuse this time: he's just gotten a call over the PA system to come down to the nurse's office. There's only a couple of things that could mean: Sammy must be either hurt or sick. He knows it's Sammy's lunch period, so sick is probably the more likely of the two, but his brother's been having a lot of trouble with bullies this year, so he can't rule out either. In any case, he needs to get there as fast as he can.

He remembers—barely—to slow down before he actually reaches the office, but he's still out of breath by the time he gets there. He ignores the secretary's greeting and heads straight for the open door of the nurse's office. He doesn't see Sammy at first; there's no one in any of the chairs or on the little cot by the wall. Then he finally notices Mrs. Wilkins crouched down on the floor near the far corner, and beyond her, he can just see the top of his brother's shaggy head.

"Sammy!" He rushes over to him, ducking around Mrs. Wilkins, who moves back to give him room. His little brother is curled up in a tight ball, his head pressed against his knees and his arms locked around his legs. Dean drops to his knees and begins to rub Sammy's back. "What's wrong, Sammy? Talk to me."

Still not looking up, Sammy shakes his head. Dean looks questioningly at Mrs. Wilkins.

She sighs. "It's just a loose tooth. He bit into a carrot at lunch and almost knocked it out, but it's still hanging on by a thread. He won't open his mouth so I can pull it the rest of the way out."

Dean grins in relief; he was expecting something much worse. Still, he doesn't like the way she said, "It's just a loose tooth." It sounds like she's annoyed with his brother, or like she thinks he's making a big deal out of nothing. "Well, of course he doesn't want to let you pull it. This is his first time losing a tooth; he's just a little freaked out. Give him a break."

He ignores Mrs. Wilkins's offended look as Sammy raises his head a little, encouraged by Dean coming to his defense. His lips are still clamped tightly shut, though. Dean gently puts his hands on the sides of Sammy's head, cradling his face between his hands so his little brother can only see him and not the nurse.

"Hey, buddy. It's okay, I'm not gonna let her hurt you. You know we've gotta get this tooth out, though, right? I told you it was gonna happen, remember, when it first started getting wiggly?"

Sammy nods.

"I mean, you know I've already lost eight of them. See?" He opens his mouth to show Sammy his grown-up teeth, the top front ones with an awkward little gap between them and the bottom ones all crowded together. Dad's mentioned something about having to figure out how he's going to pay for braces, but Dean isn't too thrilled about that prospect.

Sammy nods again, but his mouth is still clamped shut. He looks scared. If he's being honest, Dean is, too; Dad pulled most of his teeth except for the couple that came out during a fight, so this is going to be as much of a new experience for him as for Sammy. No way is he going to let the nurse touch his brother, though, and if the tooth as loose as she says, then it can't wait until Dad gets home tonight.

"You know, you'll get your first visit from the tooth fairy tonight, too. A whole new quarter, just for you. You could buy some candy for the next time we're on the road or something." He hates lying to his little brother about the tooth fairy—that's one mythical creature he _knows_ isn't real, because she's always managed to "forget" about his tooth on nights when Dad's come home drunk—but it won't matter, because if Dad forgets to leave the quarter, he'll make sure and do it. He's been saving one for the purpose ever since Sammy's tooth got loose.

One side of Sammy's mouth tugs up in a half-smile. Dean smiles back. "So, will you open up for me?"

The smile disappears as Sammy pulls back.

"Come on. It barely hurts at all, just for like a second. Then it's all over."

"But it _is_ gonna hurt," Sammy mumbles, trying to open his mouth as little as possible. Still, it's progress.

"Just for a second. I'll do it really fast; you'll barely know it's happening until it's over."

Sammy looks at him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely," says Dean, wishing he felt as sure as he sounds. How exactly does he get a hold on the tooth, anyway? His fingers aren't exactly slender, and Sammy's got a tiny mouth, and besides, the tooth is sure to be slippery. What if he can't pull it out on the first try and he ends up hurting Sammy? Then his brother won't trust him to try it again, and they'll be stuck with no way to get Sammy's tooth out.

He seems to have convinced his brother, though, if not himself, because Sammy hesitantly says, "Okay." He opens his little mouth as wide as he can, and Dean can finally see the tooth. It's pushed over backwards, practically lying down flat.

Before he can do anything, Mrs. Wilkins lays a hand on his shoulder. She directs him to go over to the sink and wash his hands, which Dean quickly does before either he or Sammy can lose their nerve. Then she hands him a piece of gauze and instructs him to use it to grab onto the tooth. _Oh, so that's how you do it._

He puts his left hand on Sammy's shoulder to hold him steady and tells Sammy to put his hand on his arm and squeeze if it hurts. Then, with the gauze wrapped around his right hand, he slowly reaches into Sammy's mouth. His brother flinches a little when he touches the tooth, but he's able to move it up to where he can get ahold of it without incident. He takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "It's okay, Sammy," he says, more for his own sake than for his brother's. Then he pulls.

There's a hard squeeze on his left arm as his right hand comes free, his knuckles hitting Sammy's top teeth on the way out. The sudden force knocks him backwards onto his bottom. Sammy starts crying, and Dean can see blood coming from a gap in his front bottom teeth. A gap. He got it!

Dean opens up his hand as the nurse gives Sammy a little wad of gauze and instructs him to bite down. There in his hand, bloody and wrapped in gauze, is a perfect little baby tooth, Sammy's first one.

He scoots forward and shows it to Sammy, who's starting to calm down now that the initial shock is over. His brother grins and tries to say something around the gauze in his mouth, but all that comes out is an unintelligible mumble.

"What?"

Sammy pulls the gauze out. The bleeding is slowing down, but it hasn't stopped yet. "I said it didn't hurt a bit!"

"Yeah, right," Dean says, giving his shoulder a playful punch. "You totally freaked out."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

Mrs. Wilkins tells Sammy to put the gauze back in, and Dean grins at him smugly. The next "Did not!" comes out so muffled it's impossible to understand, so Dean figures he's won the argument.

The nurse brings Sammy a little bag to put his tooth in and tells him to make sure not to lose it. Sammy immediately hands it to Dean, who tucks it carefully away in his pocket. "I'll give it back to you before bed tonight, okay?" he says.

Sammy nods. Mrs. Wilkins checks his gum again to make sure the bleeding has stopped and that there's no pain, and then she sends both of the boys back to class.

As he walks Sammy down the hallway to his classroom, Dean decides he's going to make sure he gets to his brother's room tonight before Dad does. He knows for a fact that Dad threw away those of his teeth he actually took, because he saw one in the bathroom trash can one morning. And that's fine; he doesn't really care whether Dad wants to keep his old teeth or not.

But Dean does want to keep Sammy's first baby tooth, the one he pulled himself on the very first try. For some reason, there's just something special about that.

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 **A Note to Reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! Because I am writing this story specifically for the MC4A challenges, I will not be writing or posting the stories in their final order and will have to rearrange the chapters frequently. Due to FFN's system of tagging reviews to the chapter numbers rather than the chapters themselves, the system may tell you that you have already reviewed a chapter when you haven't. If this is the case, and you would still like to leave a review (I hope you will!), please consider either posting the review on the current last chapter (as even if you've reviewed that chapter before, you won't have reviewed that position) or logging out and posting the review as a guest (with your username filled in so I know who to thank!). I'm so sorry for the inconvenience; I wish the system worked differently. Thank you again for your constructive feedback; it means the world to me!**


End file.
